


Only the Good Die Young (And I'm Not Good)

by PhantomBrushy



Series: Hela!Bones [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crying, Dark, Death, F/M, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pain, Sad, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Tragedy, oof there are some heavy tags here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomBrushy/pseuds/PhantomBrushy
Summary: "Fear of death, is what keeps us alive."What good was that fear now?





	Only the Good Die Young (And I'm Not Good)

**Author's Note:**

> This little one-shot has been sitting in my 'Indulgent Writing' folder for a couple of months now, so I figured I'd post it because I don't know if I'll ever get around to putting it into an actual story.
> 
> Inspired by the saying "Only the good die young" and _Writing's On The Wall_ by Sam Smith

Everything on this planet was dead.

Trees, tall trees, stretched towards the sky with bleached, gnarled branches bare of leaves or life. The soil beneath him was dry and more dust than earth and slipped between his fingers like air as he clawed into the dirt, wails of agony tearing past his lips like sharp knives. Asides from his sounds of suffering, the air was still and silent. Nothing responded to his pleas for help and release.

There was a deep, aching pain in his bones, and in his nails. He couldn’t get away from it, and the more time that passed the more he believed death would be his only reprieve

And he didn’t want that.

Hot tears streamed down his face, stinging the fine cuts on his face and the not-so-fine, deep gash stretched along his temple.

Was this the end he was destined for? Alone and unable to think of anything but the pain?

He was supposed to live a long and happy life, wasn't he? Because only the good die young and he was not good.

Hadn't he wanted to die surrounded by grandchildren and great-grandchildren and wrapped in a peace he hasn't felt since he was a young child?

But no, he would die here, with only the bodies of his fellow crew and the corpses of his unfulfilled dreams and dark thoughts for company.

Even if he couldn’t tear his eyes from the pale sky painted in shades of grey overhead, he could feel the large piece of metal in his stomach shift with each heaving, wet breath. The sharp edges of broken bones in his legs and arms threatened to break through his skin, grinding against and tearing through muscles he couldn't stop from shivering in this soul-chilling cold. Blood bubbled up his throat, slipping past his lips in small rivulets and overwhelming his senses until it was all he could smell or taste.

Why did he insist on going on this damn mission?

A particularly sharp wave of pain swept through him and he choked on the blood in his mouth, coughing and crying and groaning and…

“Please…” He could only whisper, all energy seeping from him much like the heat was, “Please… if anyone can hear me…”

His communicator, which wasn't far from him, still hissed a quiet static. No one was listening, and he had seen the distant shape of the  _ Enterprise _ disappear merely an hour ago.

_ Jim had left him to  _ rot.

If there was even a God out there to hear his call, He didn’t care. Not for some snivelling doctor who had no place in heaven and instead had a seat with his name on it next to the Devil.

“Save me…” Leonard sniffed against the blood that pooled just behind his nose, “I don’… I don’ wanna die.”

Static.

Empty skies.

Torture.

His sobs renewed with fervour, sending more jolts of pain through his nerves with each breath and jerk. His fingers and toes were now numb in wake of the rapidly dropping temperature. The distant, red sun of this system was dipping below the horizon, sending everything into a haze that would've been eerily beautiful in any other circumstance.

But now all he could think of was hell.

And it was  _ empty. _

His tongue felt dry and swollen. He was thirsty and his heart was pounding in his chest. The cold became worse as he continued to sweat through his clothes, lips blue and breath condensed in the frigid air.

“Please…”

Hadn’t he said, once, that it was the fear of death that kept people alive? What good was his fear now, then?

There was a pounding in his head, one he knew didn't come from his head injury, and his ears had adopted a ring that he could no longer ignore.

When did he close his eyes?

“ _ Help me. _ ”

It was if he uttered some sort of spell, because as soon as the words left his lips, he felt something seep into his skin and spread like the warmth of soup would on a cold day.

It felt… good.

Was this his relief?

Leonard had never been a religious man, by any means. But maybe-.

_ “I am not this ‘God’ you think of.” _

There were fingers caressing his now slack face, too incorporeal to really be there but too solid to be some fantasy. 

_ “No. You are not alone, Leonard. I have heard your plea and have come to offer my help.” _

This was too good to be true. Perhaps death wasn't what he thought it to b-.

_ “Neither are you dead. But you will be, soon. I cannot stop that.” _

Fear and panic gripped him again. This being’s voice faded in and out of clarity, like a radio signal that was too weak to be heard. Was their power weak? Or was his receiver broken?

_ “Do not fret, dear one. You will die, but I can bring you revival. It will shock you. It will hurt you. It will twist you into an existence that will be connected with me always.” _

Their voice - her voice, because this voice was too kind and too soft to be a man's, in his opinion - was fading with each passing second. A distant pain was returning to him, and he wondered if her powers were failing her. If his wounds were too great even for her to hold off on his passing to get his answer.

Those fingers caressed his face once more, almost lovingly. Reverently. It brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

No one had touched him like that in years. Gentle affection was something he had started to learn to live without, but now he was getting a taste of it.

And he wanted  _ more. _

_ “I can bring you revival. You need only ask for it.” _

What awaited him, he wondered, after he took his last breath? Would there be hellfire to lick at his skin and his aching bones for the rest of eternity? Would he be thrown into the abyss, an oblivion that would settle into his very soul, isolated and alone?

Or would he take her offer, and live on?

The decision wasn't a hard one.

“Please…” His words were barely a whisper, easily carried away by the light breeze that ghosted through his hair. It was warm, humid, and smelled of death, and belatedly he realised that it was her breath on his skin, “Save me.”

He felt her approval brush against his mind, and it felt like a balm on his dark, fading thoughts. It was in that moment he truly understood the divinity of this woman - no, this goddess,  _ his  _ goddess - that heard and answered his pleas.

When all was said and done, he'd give her anything. Anything at all. And even if she asked for nothing, he'd still give her everything, even though he had very little to his name that she would find worthy.

After all, what use was money to a goddess? What use were his papers and his title?

As darkness took hold of him, a stillness settling in and around him, he felt lips gently touch his own, his goddess’ words the last he heard before he slipped into oblivion.

_ “Oh, my pious devotee. I have no need for such material possessions. No, the only thing I need -  the only thing I want - is you. _

_ “Together, we will be forever.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! What happens next is up to you for now :)
> 
> Comments are much appreciated!


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